


A Time to Remember

by JJJunky



Category: Simon and Simon (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-03
Updated: 2011-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJJunky/pseuds/JJJunky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick's past comes back to haunt him ... but its AJ who may pay the ultimate price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Time to Remember

A Time to Remember  
By JJJunky

 

It was dark. Why was it so dark? Normally, the street lamp down the block lit his bedroom with a soft glow making a light unnecessary. Was there a blackout?

Intent upon finding answers to his questions, AJ tried to sit up. Pain radiated up his right arm to his shoulder, making his stomach churn. Biting his lip, he tasted blood. But, it wasn't new blood from a fresh wound, it was dry. Flaking into his mouth and down his parched throat, it almost choked him.

Laying his head down on what he now realized was a rocky surface rather than his soft pillow, AJ took deep breaths trying to clear his head and sooth nerves shattered by the darkness that surrounded him. A quick assessment of his physical condition revealed an aching head, right wrist, left ankle, and possibly some cracked ribs. It also disclosed that his arms and legs were bound together with thick hemp that scratched his tender skin.

As hard as he tried, he could not remember how he had gotten into this condition, or where he could possibly be. The air was cool and damp, making him shiver, but it wasn't a chill provided by manmade device, such as an air conditioner. The dampness combined with the rocky dirt floor beneath his cheek reminded AJ of a cave he and Rick had explored with their father shortly before his death.

The thought of his brother flooded AJ with a fear that his own susceptibility hadn't elicited. Unsure of who could be listening, he whispered, "Rick? Where are you? Rick?"

Only silence answered him.

* * * *

"AJ? Hey, AJ?" Rick threw the door open and entered his brother's house. The crash of wood against the tiled counter made him flinch. Hoping to avert a lecture detailing his disrespect for other people's property, he shouted, "You shoulda come with us, AJ! The fishing was great."

To Rick's surprise, there was no angry or sarcastic response to his announcement. Checking his watch, he knew it was long past the time AJ usually left for the office. Only the presence of the Camero in the driveway told him that his brother was still home.

Bounding up the stairs, two at a time, Rick entered the large master bedroom. "Come on, sleepyhead, vacation's over."

The empty room shouted a warning. The coverlet lay only partially on the bed, stuffing dripping from a tear along one corner. A pillow lay near the door, shattered bottles of cologne and aftershave had stained it with a sickly perfume.

As Rick's eyes scanned the room reading the signs of a struggle, they fell on a piece of paper resting undisturbed atop the remaining pillow. Pulling his gun, he crossed to the letter. His hand itched to pick it up, but he fought the urge. Standing over it, he quickly read the boldly scrawled words.

" _Dear Simon,  
I told you, you would be sorry that you left me. It's settlement time. However, I've decided to let your brother make the payment for you. Now you can suffer as I suffered."_

 __* * * *

Fingers, slipping with fresh blood, worked at the rough hemp. He couldn't start looking for his brother until he freed himself.

To take his mind off the pain, AJ reviewed the hours before he woke up in his present predicament. He remembered the start of the week when the brothers had decided to take a vacation. Rick had immediately called Carlos and planned a fishing expedition. Deciding to forego the bad jokes and even worse Tequila provided by Rick's friend, AJ had begged off, opting instead to stay home and catch up on his reading.

AJ could remember in detail the plot of the last book he read. What he could not recall were the intervening hours. It was as though when he finished the book, it closed his mind as well.

The hemp securing his arms fell away, leaving them with a tingling sensation that quickly turned to pain. Gritting his teeth, AJ rubbed the swollen fingers together, trying to bring back some feeling. He wanted to scream when the broken bones in his wrist brushed against each other. His stomach heaved, but there was nothing to purge.

The tips of his fingers were the first to regain their sense of touch. Cradling his broken arm across a knee, he reached down and tugged at the knots securing his legs. "Hang on, Rick. It won't be long now. I'll find you."

The words bounced against the walls, returning to him in a mocking cadence.

* * * *

Rick sat starring out through the blinds covering the patio windows at the peaceful canal. He didn't hear the bustle of the crime scene technicians. All he heard was the echo of his brother's voice telling him to get his feet off the coffee table. Shifting his gaze to the tips of his cowboy boots, Rick obeyed the ghostly command.

"The boys are almost done, Rick." Detective Downtown Brown crossed from the stairs to the couch. Sitting down, he soberly faced his friend, the letter in a protective plastic cover in his hand. "What can you tell me about this?"

"Nothing." Rick pressed a hand against his eyes, as though the action could provide the answers he was looking for.

"Unless this guy was a complete idiot," Town gently observed, "this message could be our only clue."

"Don't you think I know that?" Taking short, quick breaths to hold back the tears, Rick rose to his feet. Crossing to the patio doors, he opened one. Watching the swans swim leisurely under the bridge, he fought to control his emotions. Neither anger nor despair would find his brother.

His friend's distress inflicting an almost physical pain on his soul, Town swallowed the lump in his throat before probing, "Could they be referring to something that happened when you were kids? On one of your cases? Vietnam?"

"'Nam!" Closing the door, Rick returned to the chair he had just vacated. Staring at his hands, he revisited a clearing near the Mekong Delta. The earth shook from the mortars landing nearby, but their sound was engulfed by the whirling blades of a helicopter.

Concern for his friend clearly audible in his voice, Town laid a comforting hand on a bony knee. "Rick?"

"We'd been ambushed. By the time the helicopters arrived, half my squad was already dead. Under constant fire, the rest of us piled onto the choppers. As my ship started pulling away, I saw Frank Masters lying in a ditch. At first, I thought he was dead. Then he raised his arm, beckoning to us. I tried to get the pilot to land, but he said it was too dangerous. He was right; we might all have been killed if he'd listened to me. I could see Frank's face. I didn't need to be a lip reader to know he was begging us not to leave him."

"You think he survived somehow, and has kidnapped AJ to avenge your actions?" Town skeptically inquired.

"Yes. No." Clenching his hands into fists, Rick groaned. "I don't know what to think, Town. I don't know who else it could be."

"I'll see what I can find out," Town encouraged, rising to his feet. "Why don't you check out your office? See if our kidnapper has left any more clues."

"Good idea," Rick agreed, relieved to have something positive to do. "I'll meet you at headquarters when I'm done."

* * * *

Tears trickled down AJ's cheeks. They weren't symbols of his pain or despair, but of deliverance. Though still a prisoner in what he now knew was an abandoned mine, his incarceration was a solitary one. Rick wasn't lying dead or injured as he had once feared.

Hope flared in his heart. There was no force on earth that could prevent Rick Simon from mounting a rescue once he realized his brother was in danger.

Not one to just sit and wait for help to arrive, AJ climbed to the top of the pile of dirt and rocks blocking the mine shaft. With his good hand, he worked to clear a passage through the debris. Freedom - and his brother - lay on the other side.

* * * *

Rick lay stretched out on the couch in Town's office. His cowboy hat had been pulled down to shield his eyes, but he wasn't sleeping. He had found no leads at the office. Even a quick scan of their files hadn't implicated any possible suspects. The possibility Frank Masters had survived was remote. Yet, every instinct in him told Rick that his former comrade was the culprit.

The blinds on the windows rattled announcing Town's return. Pushing back his hat, Rick swung his feet to the floor and sat up. His eyes fixed on the tall, black lieutenant, he waited for the information that would lead him to his brother.

Placing a file on his desk, Town sat down before opening it. "There were no identifiable fingerprints on the letter or anywhere else in the house. Obviously, our man wore gloves. The samples of blood taken from the sheets and the carpet match AJ's type."

Rick closed his eyes and willed himself to remain calm. "What about Masters?"

His eyes rested briefly on his tormented friend before Town returned his attention to the report. "Frank Masters spent three years in a Vietnamese POW camp before being repatriated. He spent the next twelve in a VA hospital receiving extensive physical and mental rehabilitation. He was released two years ago."

"Do you have an address for him?" Rick eagerly demanded.

To keep his hands from shaking, Town clasped them together on top of the report. He didn't need to read the words to know what it said. "In the last eighteen months, both of the pilots of the helicopter that rescued you met with violent deaths by an unknown assailant. Only three months ago, the wife of the gunner was kidnapped. An anonymous tip was received two weeks later. Police found her badly beaten body in a box buried six feet underground. She'd suffocated."

"He always was a bastard," Rick whispered, fighting the panic.

"We have an all points out on him," Town replied. "We're checking every hotel, airline, bus, taxi, and train station. We'll find him, Rick."

"I know you will, Town," Rick tried to reassure his friend, but he knew Town felt as helpless as he did. He hated the feeling.

* * * *

AJ gasped for air. At first, he thought it was pain and exertion that was robbing his lungs of precious oxygen. As each breath had become harder and the air staler, he realized unless he escaped soon, he would suffocate. The prospect of such a hideous death filled him with dread, making him work harder.

Sweat rolled into his eyes, stinging them. Several rivulets streaked his face, caking it with mud. With a scrap of material from his filthy pajamas, he wiped his face. His stomach cramped in sympathy, reminding him that he would soon need water and food.

Exhausted, he leaned his head against the coolness of the rocky ceiling. His lungs fighting to drag in the stale air, he whispered, "Hurry, Rick, there isn't much time left."

* * * *

Rick didn't see the lushness surrounding him. All he saw was the uniformed back of the Bell Captain as he led them through the maze that was the Hotel Del Coranado. Town and Nixon followed close on his heels. With the years of back pay that had accumulated, Masters could afford to live lavishly - and had obviously decided to do so. For over a hundred years, the hotel had catered to the wealthiest, most prominent members of society. Pictures of many of them adorned one of the lower corridors, becoming a museum of sorts. Was it, Rick wondered, the first time the old walls had harbored a murderer?

"That's it," the Bell Captain whispered, pointing to the door at the end of the hall.

"We'll take it from here," Town softly replied, motioning to the other man to go back down the stairs.

With Rick poised on one side and Town the other, Nixon knocked on the door, before quickly crossing to stand next to his lieutenant. All three men had their guns drawn and aimed.

When the door flew open, Rick came face to face with the man who had haunted his dreams for the last fifteen years. "Hello, Frank."

"I always hoped you would be the one looking down the barrel of my gun, Simon," Masters nonchalantly replied.

Not in the mood to bandy words, Rick demanded, "Where's AJ?"

"Can't tell, can't tell," Master's sing-songed in a little boy's voice. Looking at his watch, he added, "He might still be alive."

Knowing his friend's temper, Town grabbed Rick's arm and pulled him away from Masters. "Not now, we'll take him downtown. I promise, Rick, we'll make him talk."

"All right," Rick reluctantly agreed, holstering his gun and removing the temptation to use it.

Satisfied, Town ordered, "Nixon cuff the prisoner and read him his rights."

* * * *

It wasn't much further. He could smell the fresh, clean air. It had tantalized AJ as he dragged himself up the long, sloping passage.

When he had broken through the barrier sealing him in his small prison, AJ had thought his torment was over. He hadn't realized how deep within the earth the shaft had been sunk. His reserves already depleted by the thirst, hunger, and pain plaguing him, he began the long journey to the top. The first half mile or so had been traversed on his one good leg. When it collapsed beneath him, he continued on his stomach. What was left of his thin, cotton pajamas was shredded beyond recognition.

The air became colder and fresher telling him, he was close to the surface. The cool breeze made him shiver, but he didn't stop. He knew that if he did, he might never get his abused body to continue.

Only when he reached the entrance to the mine did he allow himself the luxury of a short rest. Rolling onto his back, he rejoiced in the dim light of the distant stars. They had never looked more beautiful. Pine trees formed a canopy, partially blocking the spectacle and perfuming the air with a heavenly scent. AJ knew he would never again view a tree or the night sky with the complacency he had before this night.

The familiar sound of cars racing down a highway reached his ears. Rolling back onto his stomach, he groaned as broken or cracked ribs took the weight of his body. With a renewed sense of desperation, he started dragging himself down to the road. He knew no sensible driver would stop for him, but with any luck, one might feel enough responsibility to call the police.

* * * *

The coffee was cold and bitter, but Rick didn't care. The caffeine still acted like a shot of adrenalin. Only Town's presence in the interrogation room had kept him from attacking the man responsible for his brother's disappearance. He knew he couldn't kill Masters until AJ was found, but he wished he could slap the smile of complacency off the smug face.

"We have enough circumstantial evidence to charge you with the murders of John Seymour, Matthew Robinson, and Susan Lacey," Town reported, referring to a file lying in front of him. "Concealing AJ Simon's whereabouts won't save you from a long prison term. In fact, if you tell us where he is, I'll recommend leniency."

"I told you, I'll tell you where he is," Masters replied, lounging back in his chair, "when I'm sure he's dead. You think I care what happens to me? I died in that clearing in Vietnam fifteen years ago. The only thing that gave me pleasure was planning my revenge. Now that I've almost accomplished my goal, do you think I'm going to give you information that will keep me from realizing my dream?"

Leaning his forehead against the wall, Rick closed his eyes in despair. He had never felt so lost. "Why AJ? I was the one you blamed. Why was he the one who had to pay?"

"When I killed Seymour and Robinson, it was too quick. They didn't suffer. I wanted you to suffer."

"You've certainly achieved your goal," Rick whispered, biting his lip until he drew blood. This was a pain he could understand. Tragically, the physical pain couldn't relieve his mental anguish.

The door flew open and crashed against the wall drawing attention to the man responsible. His face flushed, Nixon breathlessly announced, "AJ's been found in the Cleveland National Forest. He's alive! The Sheriff's Department has taken him to the nearest hospital in Pine Valley."

As Rick pushed his way past the Sergeant, Masters anguished wail followed him. "No-o-o-o!"

* * * *

His hands aching from gripping the dashboard so hard, Rick jumped from the truck before Town had come to a full stop. Eyes glazed with exhaustion and anxiety, he briefly studied the single story hospital before charging inside. Crossing to the reception desk, he demanded, "Where's my brother?"

A calming hand resting lightly on the tense shoulder of his friend, Town flashed his badge and a conciliatory smile as he explained, "I'm Lieutenant Brown of the San Diego Police Department and this rude person is Richard Simon. We're here to see his brother, AJ."

"Doctor Reed asked me to notify him as soon as you arrived," the pretty young woman returned, lifting the receiver of her telephone.

"Couldn't it wait, 'til after I've seen my brother?" Rick countered, taking a few steps down the single corridor. Even without her help, it would not take him long to find AJ.

"I'm sorry." She shook her head and continued dialing. "I have my orders."

It felt like hours, but Rick knew it was only minutes before Dr. Reed appeared. Glasses hanging from a rope around the thick neck, he looked more like a football player than a doctor. "Mr. Simon, Lt. Brown, it's a pleasure to meet you. Please, step into my office."

"Can't this wait, Doc?" Rick pleaded.

The voice was soft, but firm. "I'm sorry, it can't."

Reluctantly, Rick followed Town into a small office next to a nurse's station. It was clear the room had originally been a broom closet. Hooks still hung on the wall. There was barely enough space to allow Reed to round his desk to his chair. Offering the other two seats to his visitors, he began, "I know you're anxious to see your brother, Mr. Simon, but there are a few things I think you should know first."

"Is AJ going to be all right?" Rick pressed, sitting forward in his chair.

"Physically, yes," Reed soothed. "It's his mental stability, I'm worried about. Your brother is extremely strong . . . and stubborn--"

"Don't I know it," Rick ruefully interrupted, exchanging wry glances with Town.

"Be grateful, Mr. Simon. Almost anyone else with the same injuries would've surrendered - and died. That stubbornness is what kept him alive."

Even though AJ was his friend, Town didn't forget his responsibility as a police officer. Taking out his notebook, he asked, "What exactly are his injuries?"

"A slight concussion, broken right wrist and left ankle," Reed recited, placing the glasses on his nose, he referred to the chart lying on his desk. "Two broken ribs, three cracked, a perforated left lung, and extensive bruising over most of his body."

Rick's hands curled into fists. Wishing the room was large enough to pace, he exhorted, "There's more isn't there?"

"The only way to receive these types of injuries is by a severe beating. Added to this, AJ spent almost three days alone with no food, water, or light. Even the very air he breathed was deserting him."

"My God," Town gasped, his hand trembling as he wrote.

Slipping his glasses off, Reed rested his eyes on Rick. "For what should be obvious reasons, AJ doesn't remember what happened to him between the time he went to bed and the time he woke up in the mine shaft."

"Is that good?" Rick appealed, his brow creased with worry.

"It's probably what's kept his mind from escaping into its own little world."

"Will he ever remember?"

Scratching his head, Reed shrugged his massive shoulders. "No one can say for sure. In my opinion, he'd be better off if he never does, but, I don't think he sees it that way. He sees it as an act of cowardice."

Knowing the high standards AJ had set for himself, Rick wasn't surprised to hear about his brother's reaction. Years of experience had taught him not only to expect it, but how to deal with it. "May I see him now?"

"Certainly," Reed agreed, squeezing past his desk and leading the way from the office. "I just wanted you to be aware of what you'll be facing."

Outside the door opposite the nurse's station, the doctor stopped. "The room is kept dim; his eyes still need to adjust to the light. It'll take a while, but they'll be fine."

Rick absently nodded acknowledgment, as he pushed through the door. It took only a few seconds for his pupils to adjust to the shadowy chamber. Crossing to the single bed, he whispered, "AJ?"

"Is that you, Rick?"

The voice was scratchy and low, but it was the most beautiful sound Rick had ever heard. "It's me, little brother."

"I'm glad." A hand reached out to Rick. "I was so scared that something had happened to you, too."

Gently gripping the bruised and scratched hand, Rick admitted, "Except for losing a few more strands of hair worrying about you, I'm fine."

"Sorry about that," AJ teased, though it was obvious his heart wasn't in it. "I know you can't afford to lose any more."

"Very funny," Rick mockingly grumbled.

The normal noises of a hospital penetrated the thick door filling an uncomfortable silence. His voice cracking with self-disgust, AJ confessed, "I can't tell you who did this to me, Rick. I can't remember."

"I know, the doctor told me," Rick soothed, gently rubbing the bruised hand. "You don't need to remember. Town caught the guy who kidnapped you."

"Won't he need me to testify?"

"Masters committed three murders before he took you; there's enough evidence linking him to those homicides to keep him in jail for the rest of his life."

"Who was it, Rick?" His hand trembling in his brother's grip, AJ pleaded, "Why did he do this to me?"

His own hands shaking in sympathy, Rick gently laid his physical link with his brother on the bed before admitting, "It was my fault. Because of something I did in Vietnam, Frank Masters wanted to see me suffer. He got his wish. However, thanks to your stubbornness, it wasn't as permanent as he'd planned."

"Even without knowing what went on over there," AJ reassured, "I know this wasn't your fault. Maybe if I could remember exactly what happened, it would help."

"It's not important that you remember," Rick declared, recalling the doctor's warning. "Take it from someone who's been there. Sometimes, you're better off not remembering. You'll sleep better."

"But I want to remember, Rick," AJ quietly insisted. "I feel like I'm living in a void."

Reclaiming the bruised hand, Rick cautioned, "Don't push it. Let it come in its own good time. I think you've got enough pain to deal with at the moment."

"You got that right," AJ sighed, his eyes studying the casts and bandages securing his wounds.

"When you're strong enough mentally, as well as physically, the memories will return," Rick encouraged. "Just bear in mind that I'll be here to help you through it."

AJ tightened his grip. Ignoring the fresh blood oozing from the cuts and staining his brother's hand, he whispered, "Knowing you'll be at my side when I need you is something I'll never forget."


End file.
